I could write a poem about you.
It's true.

But a poem would only make you love me
more than you know how to.

I could write a poem about your eyes.
They're blue.

I could tell the world you make my day all day long.
Nights, too.

I could tell the world all about you.
The world would share my view.

I could say that your days live inside
my heart. They do.

I could write a poem about you.
It would be true. Would you?

r ~ 4/28/14

Home Depot does not sell azure paint.
No. They do have Morning Sky,
Tropical Lagoon, Morning Breeze,
Ocean Cruise, Cozumel, Empress Teal,
Almost Aqua, and Navy.  But no azure.  
No cyan, either. No plain ol' blue.
I will take my verdant money elsewhere.
Home Depot should be more poet friendly.

r ~ 4/29/14

She hides her smile
behind black lipstick.
Her voice is low
and in between.
She smells of loneliness
and cigarettes.
She sings for me
when she is high.

She gets me higher
than I can go.
She takes me low
and in between.
Her heart's on fire
when she sings.
Her voice is smokey,
full of pain.

She sings of loneliness
and broken dreams.
Her dance is low
and in between.
She gets me high
and lets me down.
She kisses me
with black lipstick.

r ~ 4/29/14

I think of all the little cowboys
Riding around in toy cars
Learning valuable life lessons
As tiny arrows pierce their hearts

When I think of little cowboys
I think back to yesterdays
When I too was a little cowboy
In all my cowboy ways

And how little cowboys love little cowgirls
That feel at home on the range
How they ride and rope and rustle
All of the live long day

When the little cowboys day is over
They hang their spurs up for the night
Thinking back on the days adventures
As they live out the cowboy life

Soon sleep takes the little cowboys
In their pajamas made of jeans
Riding the range at night by campfire light
As they lasso all their dreams

Sticks and stones my break my bones
but words may never leave me.

Echoes
The thunder echoes against the cracked jaw of the sky
I smell the heat and the humidity
And the envy

Drowning
The earth is drowning under the cannonade of rainfall
I can feel the sorrow and the hope
And the hubris

The unbridled fury of an outcast

Secrets
Whispered through the arms of a lover
On the wind whipping down the road
Up through the willows

Sometimes I see birds flitting through the trees
And want to write.
But then I set down and start
After a paragraph or two, it all comes apart

And sometimes when a pretty girl walks by
I smell her perfume
And that makes me want to write

Sometimes I watch myself struggle
And that, well that makes me want to cry

And sometimes I think of the world
And all the hate and ugly in it
It makes me want to write
And cry

And then yesterday I woke up
And remembered that its important
To make beauty of the ugly
And the love from the hate

Today I woke up
Looked at myself in the mirror
And remembered the hate and the ugly
It made me want to write

Sing?
I sing no more
As a bird sings more

And Learning?
I remember learning
I remember learning every curve of your body
In between the hours of your awake

Lying
I don't remember lying
Not once
Not even twice

Dying.
I can wait for the dying
Or can't wait,
Depending on the day

But honestly, between you and me
Between rhapsody and harmony,
Between the outstretched arms of eternity
I still think there's something left for me